


Lost and Found

by Emospritelet



Series: Drinking To Forget [9]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Murder, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 08:17:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13736868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet
Summary: Lacey waits around for Detective Weaver to wake up so she can yell at him, and Rumplestiltskin finds he's still immortal.  He looks for answers to the puzzle that is Lacey French, and Alice guides him to the truth.





	Lost and Found

He was drifting, floating, his body weightless, a strange, pale grey mist all around him, bearing him along.  There was no sound there, but he knew he was getting closer.  He knew she was near.  An indistinct shape in the dense fog ahead, a vague outline, dark hair and pale skin, slender arms reaching out to him, bringing him home.

“Belle,” he whispered, and came awake with a jerk, sucking in a breath, his heart thumping.

For a moment he was disorientated, the bed unfamiliar, narrow and too firm.  A rhythmic beeping was coming from somewhere, and there was an unpleasant feeling of cheap fabric against his skin.  The scent of the place hit him then, disinfectant and the flat, empty smell of a place that was only ever visited, never lived in.  He was in hospital.

He remembered getting shot, and as though the memory triggered something, he felt pain in his chest, a deep ache boring through him, dulled by whatever strong painkiller they had put him on.  It was no longer the sharp, tearing agony that he recalled upon being hit, but it still made him bite his lip and wince, his face twisting.   _So.  Still fucking immortal, then.  Fantastic._

“Do you want me to call the nurse?”

A familiar voice, once so dear to him, had the effect of a cold bucket of water being thrown over him, and he raised his head a little.  Lacey was sitting in a chair at the end of the bed, eyes dark in the dim light and her arms folded around herself protectively.  Had this been what he had seen?  Had she leaned over his bed, her voice infiltrating his dream and conjuring a vision of Belle?  Could she not leave him alone?

“Are you in pain?” she asked then.  “The nurse said you could ask for more pain relief if you needed it.”

He turned his head away from her, unsure if it was worse hearing Belle’s voice and knowing it wasn’t her, or never hearing it again.

“Get out,” he said.

“No.”

He looked back, and she was staring at him calmly.

“I said—”

“I heard what you said,” she interrupted.  “I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.”

“Well, you’ll be in for a long bloody wait, then.”

“Don’t care.”

She pushed to her feet and began pacing, tapping steepled fingers together before turning to face him.

“What changed?” she demanded.  “We were - well, leaving aside the mind-blowing sex, I at least thought we were friends, and then all of a sudden you push me away and act like you don’t _care_?”

“I don’t!” he spat.

“Bullshit!” she countered.  “You told me you loved me!  You took a _bullet_ for me!”

“I took a bullet for _me_!” he said, and Lacey’s mouth fell open.

_“What?”_

“I had to know!” he snapped.  “I had to see if it would work, even knowing it bloody wouldn’t! I just wanted my torment to fucking _end_!  All of it, all those centuries of darkness!  I wanted it _over_!  I can’t do this anymore, I just can’t.  I can’t.”

His voice trailed off in a whisper, and she shook her head.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head, already regretting his outburst.  He could rage at the cruelty of fate and the burden of his curse without her there to bear witness, for fuck’s sake.  She was watching him with wide eyes.  Eyes filled with hurt.  He wished it didn’t make him feel bad.  There was silence, except for that low, rhythmic beeping.

“You called me Belle,” she said then, and he looked away.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Who is she?”

“I told you, it doesn’t matter.”

“Well, clearly it matters a hell of a lot to _you_ ,” she said.  “You thought I was her.  But I’m not, I’m just - I’m just Lacey.”  Her mouth twisted.  “Sorry to disappoint.”

“You’re not Lacey, either,” he said coldly, and she flinched.

“How would you know that?”

He let his head fall back with a sigh.  So.  It was true.  A glamour, then, used by the witch to change the appearance of a girl matching Belle’s height and frame.  It must have occurred before the curse was cast, and he wondered how she had known of Lacey, enough to make this Lacey her double.  Perhaps Regina had told her once.  Strange that she had made her Lacey rather than Belle, but given the former’s penchant for bars and strong drink, perhaps she had surmised that Weaver would be more likely to encounter the imposter than if she were a librarian.  If indeed that had been her plan.  If indeed it was Zelena who was responsible.  It mattered not.  This was not Belle.  His wife was still gone, and his heart was still broken.

Lacey was shifting from foot to foot, chewing on her lower lip in a gesture so reminiscent of Belle that it made his heart clench.  Whatever this spell was, it was a good one.  He’d have been impressed if he wasn’t currently overcome with rage and loss and weariness.  She turned to face him, shaking back dark curls and fixing him with those eyes that he had wanted to drown in.  Why did she have to have Belle’s face?  Had he not suffered enough?

“Okay, you’re right,” she sighed.  “My name’s not Lacey French.  At least - at least it wasn’t always.”

“As I thought,” he said tiredly.  “Go on then.  Who the hell are you?”

She shifted uncomfortably.

“My name - my name was Isobel Schwartz,” she said eventually, and he stared.

“So your father is Donnie Schwartz,” he guessed.  “At least in this land.”

“This land?”  Lacey’s brow crinkled.  “I don’t - I don’t understand…”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” he snapped.  “Mr Smee!  I imagine he was the one to agree to this scheme, I just don’t know what _you_ got out of it.  I seem to recall he wanted to turn back the clock, that he wanted a do-over.  Is that what she offered him?”

“What _scheme_?” she demanded, fists on hips.  “Who the hell are you talking about?  Hate to break it to you, Detective, but not everything is about you!  I left home when I was fifteen and changed my fucking name, okay?   _I_ chose my name, no one else!”

He glowered at her, but sensed that she was telling the truth.  Or thought she was.  So perhaps the curse held her as tightly as it had him.

“And why Lacey French?” he asked.  “Why _that_ name?”

Lacey pulled a face.

“I dunno, it just - I guess it popped into my head one day,” she said.  “Thought it sounded fancy.  Thought that might mean something, make things better for me.  Guess not, huh?”

He sensed she was telling the truth about that, too.  Which only made things stranger.

“So you don’t know anything about the Enchanted Forest, then?” he asked.  “Or a witch with a grudge against pretty much everyone?”

She stared at him in confusion.

“About _what_?”  She folded her arms.  “Wow, what meds did they give you?”

Still cursed, then.  Perhaps that made it easier.  At least she was unlikely to be knowingly working for the witch.  She was glowering at him, but the hurt was still there, gleaming in her eyes.  He turned his head away.

“Go home, Lacey,” he said quietly.  “Go, and don’t come back.  I don’t want to see you again.”

Lacey stomped up, glaring at him, her fists clenched and her body almost trembling with outrage.

“I’ll go, because I’m bloody tired, since I’ve been sitting here all fucking night to make sure you didn’t bloody die!” she snapped.  “But if you think I’m gonna let you chase me away without an explanation for why you’re being such a _dick_ , you can think again!”

She stormed out, the door swinging shut behind her, and he sighed, trying to ignore the pain in his chest.  Alice.  He needed to talk to Alice.  She, at least, seemed to have some memories of their old lives, however fragmented.  She even had her true name.  Perhaps she could be persuaded to remember a little more.

* * *

He half-expected Alice to visit him in hospital, but he recalled that he had told her to lay low, and the last thing he wanted was for King’s men to turn up to finish the job and for her to get caught in the crossfire.  He thought they probably wouldn’t, though.  Schwartz had aimed to kill, but now that he had survived, he suspected that he was supposed to take the bullet as a warning.  Gideon visited, though, bringing the good wishes of everyone at the precinct, though he suspected there were a few who were relieved at his absence.  Gideon confirmed that there was a warrant out for Schwartz’s arrest, and that officers had gone to his apartment, but as yet there was no sign of the man.  Rumple wasn’t in the least surprised; either his failure to kill Detective Weaver or the fact that his identity was known would be enough for King to want to dispose of him.  He suspected that the next time he saw Lacey’s fake father would be in the morgue.

Another body had been found, this one missing its tongue and eyes, and the press were uneasy, criticisms just starting to make the rounds as the police seemed no closer to catching the killer.  Gideon confirmed that there were still no results back on the hair and fibres found at the scene.  There were reports of a cloaked woman, though, delivered by Alice’s lookouts.  They hadn’t yet managed to track her to King’s offices, the woman only entering the warehouse, not seen leaving, but he suspected it was only a matter of time.  He raised the possibility of an underground escape route, perhaps through the sewers, and Gideon agreed to put two officers on the case to look for it.

“Griffin says you’re on mandatory leave for a week, followed by two weeks of desk duty, by the way,” added Gideon, once he had finished with his report of the latest developments.  Rumple curled his lip.

“She can’t be serious.”

“Oh, well, by all means tell her that yourself.”

Rumple sighed, letting his head roll back against the pillows.

“I have a murder investigation to run, or has she forgotten?”

“You are aware that you’re lucky to be alive?” said Gideon.  “The doctors said it was a miracle you didn’t die in that alleyway.  Personally, I think you’re just too bloody stubborn.”

“Something like that,” he grumbled.  “Getting shot won’t stop me trying to catch this bloody woman, that’s for sure.”

“I can carry on in your absence,” Gideon assured him.  “I’ll come over every night and tell you what I’ve found, if you like.”

“Good.”  He let his head fall back against the pillows.  “I’m walking out of here today if it kills me.”

“Let’s hope not,” said Gideon dryly.  “I brought you a change of clothes, like you asked.”

He dropped a holdall on the bed, and Rumple poked through it, inwardly sighing at the jeans and white shirt that Gideon had chosen.  The sooner he could get something resembling his own wardrobe, the better.

* * *

Despite being told that he had to rest for a week, he merely stayed in the apartment long enough to make himself some coffee before drinking it down, popping some painkillers and heading off to Alice’s warehouse.  The pain in his chest nagged at him, and he pressed his hand against the dressing as he got out of the car, wincing.  It took several attempts at pounding on the warehouse door before Alice answered, and she sent him a wide smile.

“You’re okay!” she said, kissing his cheek.  “I wanted to come and visit, but French told me I should lay low.  Who tried to kill you this time?”

“I have to talk to you,” he said, without greeting her.  “Can I come in?”

Alice stepped back with a bow.

“Please, come on up,” she said.  “I’m all alone; the kids are out on jobs, so it’s just us.  How’s that hole in your chest?”

“Fucking painful,” he growled, stepping through the doorway.

She chuckled and shut the door behind him, leading him up to her room.  There were blanket-covered packing crates opposite her pallet bed, which passed for simple chairs.  A bare wooden crate in between was a makeshift table, holding a chessboard and what looked like a game that had been interrupted halfway through.  Black appeared to be winning.

“I’d offer you tea, but I’m guessing you want something stronger,” she said.  “No can do, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t need a drink,” he said impatiently.  “I need you to tell me what you know about me.  I don’t mean Detective Weaver, I mean - I mean the _other_ me.”

She eyed him curiously.

“What are you talking about?”

He sat down on one of the blanket-covered crates opposite her bed, holding up his left hand, his ring gleaming in the light.

“This,” he said.  “You gave me this.  I don’t know how the hell it made its way to you, but this is my wedding ring.  You said it only looked right when I put it on my left hand.”

Her mouth worked.

“I don’t know why I said that,” she said in a rush.  “I don’t - I don’t know why it called to me, it just did.  I knew you had to have it.”

“You gave Lacey a book for Christmas,” he went on.  “A book with an inscription in the front, a dedication to someone called Gideon.  And you gave her a cup.  A cup with a chip in its rim.”

“I did,” she said slowly.  “But she chose the cup.  She wanted it.  I just let her take it.”

“Alice, please!” he said fiercely.  “You know something, I can feel it!  What is it?”  

“I don’t know!” she said, sounding frustrated.  “I don’t - I don’t see everything!  Just flashes.  Pieces.  Like it’s a jigsaw but some of the bits are missing.”

“Tell me,” he said urgently, and she sighed, running a hand through her blonde curls.

“You’ll think I’m crazy.”

He laughed at that, a flat sound without humour.

“Oh, believe me, I won’t,” he said grimly.  “You can tell me anything, I promise you.  Anything at all.  No matter how strange it seems to you.  Please.”

She nodded, pursing her lips, and sat down on her bed.

“Okay, this is going to sound insane…”

She cut off, looking at him, and he nodded.

“Please tell me.”

Alice hesitated, taking a deep breath.

“I know you’re not from this world,” she said.  “And me, I’m not, either.”

She looked at him uncertainly, as though she expected him to scoff at her, but he nodded again, and she seemed to relax a little.

“Go on,” he whispered.

“And - and I think magic is real in that world,” she added.  “ _Our_ worlds, I mean.  Magic spells, potions and everything.  Like Harry Potter, but It’s all real.”

“Yes.”

He watched her calmly, and she seemed to grow in confidence as he reacted to her announcements with nothing but quiet acceptance.  She nodded firmly, as though confirming something she had long suspected.

“I know there’s something powerful about you,” she said.  “Something dark.  But - but you’re a good man, I know that, too!”

“That’s a matter of extremely varied opinion, believe me,” he said tiredly.

“And I think you tried to help me,” she went on.  “Just as I’m trying to help you.”

“Yes,” he whispered.  “Yes, Alice, I tried to help you.”

She was chewing her lip, frowning slightly as she tried to think.

“We both lost someone,” she said.  “Someone important.”

He sighed, rubbing absently at his chest, where pain bit at him.

“Yes,” he said heavily.  “I lost the love of my life.  My wife, Belle.  She - she died.  And you lost Robin.”

“Robin.”  She spoke the name softly, an almost reverent look in her eyes.  “Yes.  It’s like I can almost remember her.”

“We’ll find a way to get you back to her,” he said.  “I promise.”

She reached out to take his hand, squeezing it and sending him a tremulous smile, and he squeezed back.  Alice put her other hand over his, pulling him a little closer.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.  “What changed?  How - how do you know this isn’t right?  That this isn’t _us_?”

He hesitated, and gave a tiny shrug.

“My memories came back,” he said quietly.  “The curse broke for me, and I remembered who I am.”

“The curse.”  She mouthed the words again, dropping his hand as her brow furrowed.  “Is that what it is?  Is that what makes my mind all hazy?  I thought it was those pills I’m supposed to take.  I don’t always remember, you know.  Sometimes I think it’s better without them.  Clearer.”

“You take pills?” he asked sharply.  “Since when?  Who told you to take them?”

“As long as I can remember,” she said, with a shrug.  “My doctor said I needed them.  Gives me them for free, too.  I thought she was helping, but - but if I forget for a day or so, I get the visions.  Flashes, like I said.  Thought I was going mad…”

She broke off with an uneasy chuckle, and he shook his head.

“You’re not going mad,” he said gently.  “You’re remembering, that’s all.  What else do you remember?”

“I know that Lacey’s from the same land as you,” she added, and put her head to the side.  “Wait - you said the curse broke for you.  How did it happen?”

His jaw tightened.

“I’m not sure,” he said curtly.  “I kissed her, and it broke.  I remembered who I am.”

Alice slapped her knees, beaming up at him.

“I knew it!” she said excitedly.  “You’re meant to be together!  True love, soulmates, call it whatever you like.”

He pushed to his feet, running a hand through his hair and beginning to pace.

“I had a true love,” he said bitterly.  “I had a soulmate.  I don’t need another.  I don’t _want_ another!”

“How do you know that’s not her?”

 _“Because she died!”_ he snarled, and she shrugged.

“Well, it’s not like that’s a permanent thing, is it?”

He whirled on the balls of his feet.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Anything’s possible with magic,” she said.

“Magic can’t bring back the dead,” he said curtly.

“The stories all say that it can’t create love, either,” she said.  “And yet you love her, don’t you?  You fell in love with Lacey.”

“She’s not—”

“You fell in love with her,” she insisted.  “Not just any love, either.  True love.  True love’s kiss.  Powerful enough to break whatever curse you were under.  Whatever curse still has its hooks in me.”

He was silent, pacing, thoughts whirling through his mind.  What she said about the limitations of magic was true.  Why _had_ the kiss worked?

“Like I said, death’s not a permanent thing,” she said.  “I reckon it all comes back to this woman in the cloak.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” he agreed.  “If it’s who I think it is, she’d take any opportunity she could to fuck with me.  But I still don’t understand why you think Lacey is Belle.  She can’t be!  It’s - it’s a bloody glamour, a trick, someone using Belle’s face to get to me!”

Alice gave him a withering look.

“Oh, come on, Detective,” she sighed.  “You’ve never been blind or stupid, don’t start pretending now.”

He scowled at her, and she rolled her eyes.  She picked up a chess piece, a white pawn that had already been taken out of the game.

“Let’s say you’re trying to defeat someone,” she said, and tapped the black king with a finger.  “Let’s say you know their weakness.”

She held up the white pawn, wiggling it between her fingers.

“And let’s say you had the means to exploit that weakness,” she went on.

She placed the pawn back on the board, in a position to put the king in check, and he frowned.

“Someone’s manipulating me, using Belle’s face and form,” he said impatiently.  “That’s what I’ve been telling you!”

“No!” she insisted.  “It’s not a trick!  Not in that sense, anyway.  It’s _her_!”

He stormed up to her, feeling as though his heart would break.

 _“Belle is dead!”_ he hissed.  “I _buried_ her!  I dug the grave with my own hands and I _wept_ over it!  She’s _gone_!”

“So?” she said.  “I told you before, time isn’t linear.  Especially not when there’s dark magic manipulating it.”

He ran his hands over his face with a groan.

“Alice, if you don’t stop speaking in riddles, so help me…”

Alice sat back on the bed, resting her hands on her knees with a sigh.

“She’s out of her timeline, that’s what it is,” she said.  “Someone went back and snatched her out of it.”

“Why?” he asked, and she pulled a face.

“To save her, to kill her, who knows?  To use against you, most likely.  My guess is she got caught up in the curse that brought us here, before they could put whatever plan it was into action.”

Rumple ran a hand over his face, considering her theory.

“Yes,” he said quietly.  “I can think of a few people who would want to do that.  My son is here, too.  He’s here in this land, and I can’t even show him how happy I am to see him.”

Alice pursed her lips, a gleam in her eyes.

“Detective French,” she guessed.  “I knew you were family!  Didn’t I say so?”

“You’re remarkably intuitive,” he said dryly, and she snorted.

“Way more than _you_ ,” she said.  “You can’t see the truth even when it’s standing in front of you, telling you how much it loves you.”

“I know how easy it is to cast a convincing glamour, that’s why,” he said bitterly.  “It was a favourite trick of a certain witch I knew when she held me prisoner.  She frequently took Belle’s form just to fucking torture me.”

“And did you know it wasn’t really Belle?” she asked.

He hesitated, but nodded.

“If she got close enough, yes.”

“Then what makes you think this time is any different?”

He didn’t answer, and she slapped the crate with the palms of her hand, making the chess pieces jump.  The white queen toppled over, rolling in a circle.

“ _Think_ about her,” she persisted.  “Not her face, or her eyes, but the little things that make her who she is.  Mannerisms, quirks.  Tiny imperfections that only you have seen.  The scent of her.  How she tastes.  Wouldn’t you know her _anywhere_?”

Her eyes had taken on a intense look, and he sensed that she was thinking about her own true love, even if she couldn’t fully remember her.  He thought about it: the feel of Lacey’s skin, the way she felt beneath him.  The way she bit her lip and the way her eyes flashed when she was passionate.  The tiny mole on the back of her thigh and the scent of her arousal.  The taste of her pleasure on his tongue, and the sounds she made when she came.  He shook his head, the shock of realisation almost stealing his breath.

“It’s her,” he whispered.  “It’s Belle.  Oh, gods, it’s Belle!”

“There!” she said triumphantly.  “What did I tell you?  Now go kiss her and break her curse!”

“But she doesn’t know me!” he protested.  “Not - not who I really am!”

“Well, now I have to ask,” she said, with a grin.  “Who are you?”

“In my land?” he said, glancing at her.  “Rumplestiltskin.”

Alice burst into giggles, and he frowned at her.

“Spinning straw into gold?” she chuckled.  “Seriously?”

“I’m also the Dark One,” he said dryly, and she sat back, pursing her lips.

“Right,” she said, drawing out the word.  “At least I know where Detective French’s emo tendencies come from.  I bet you’re a dramatic little shit, aren’t you?”

“Would you stop taking the fucking piss and help me?” he snapped.  “The kiss woke me, but not her!  I need to find out why!”

“Sorry,” she said, still sniggering a little.

He sank down on the edge of the bed, hands on his knees, thinking hard, and Alice remained quiet, letting him think.

“She’s - she’s been taken out of her timeline early on,” he reasoned.  “That’s why the kiss broke my curse and not hers.  She doesn’t know me.  She - she doesn’t love me.”

“If you think that, you’re an idiot,” she said flatly.  “Okay, maybe she doesn’t remember what you had, that you were married, but I think she senses what you are to each other.”

“You can’t know that,” he snapped, and Alice sighed.

“Lacey fell in love with you, remember?” she said patiently.  “She fell in love with the irascible, delightfully shady Detective Weaver and couldn’t stay away.  I’m sure you can make her fall in love with the real you.  As long as you’re not a total arsehole to her, of course.”

“Bit late for that,” he sighed, letting his head roll back.  “Oh God, she must hate me!”

“Then think of a really interesting and passionate way to apologise,” she suggested, and giggled when he gave her a flat look.  “Come on!  At least you know it’s her, right?  You admit it now?”

He pushed to his feet, pacing, a hand ruffling his hair, thinking furiously.

“She chose the name Lacey French,” he said, almost to himself.  “She recognised her favourite book, and she was drawn to the teacup.  She feels protective towards Gideon, and - and—”

“And she wanted to shag the arse off you five minutes after meeting you,” finished Alice, with a grin.  “No accounting for taste, I suppose.”

He shot her another look, which made her giggle again, and resumed his pacing.  Alice watched him stride back and forth, waiting for him to speak.

“So she has some knowledge of us,” he added.  “Some - some sort of remembrance.  She’s young, though.  Younger than when I first knew her, I think.”

“Makes sense if they wanted to use her against you,” she said.  “Take her before she loved you, right?  If she knew you, and loved you, she wouldn’t be able to do what they wanted.  Whatever that is.”

“Good point,” he agreed.

“Weird that she seems to sense some of it, though,” she mused, and he nodded, still striding back and forth, his brow furrowing.

“It’s whatever spell they used to snatch her out of time,” he said finally.  “Time travel is always messy and _always_ dangerous.  I think - I think whatever they did has distorted things for her, so she has a sense of things yet to come.  Almost as though they were memories.”

“And you say ‘they’,” she pressed.  “Do you know who did this?”

He stopped, his mouth twisting.

“Not for certain,” he said grimly.  “But there’s only one person I can think of who’s both powerful enough and irresponsible enough to mess with time travel.”

“And who’s that?” asked Alice.

“Her name is Zelena,” he said.  “And if it is her, I’m gonna fucking murder her.”

* * *

He felt different when he left the warehouse, stepping out into the cold air with a lighter heart, despite the pain in his chest.  His true love was alive.  Admittedly at the moment she didn’t know what they had, what they shared, but she was alive.  The sun was shining, clouds scudding across the sky in a stiff breeze, and he got back into his car, sitting with his hands on the wheel as he thought over what to do.  He had to see Lacey, to try to get her to remember.  If she would talk to him, of course, and he couldn’t blame her if she wouldn’t.  He cringed a little, remembering the things he had said, and sighed, the heavy breath making him wince in pain and clutch at his chest again.  Immortal or not, he needed to take it easy if he didn’t want to end up back in the bloody hospital.

He drove the short distance to her apartment building, parking up outside and sitting there for a moment, drumming his fingers on the wheel.  What excuse could he give for acting like an utter wanker?  None that he could think of.  A grovelling apology would have to do.

He made his way up to her apartment, feet heavy on the stairs, the pain in his chest making him short of breath.  Her door loomed into view, and he hesitated outside before lifting his clenched fist to knock.  There was a scuffling sound inside, the rattle of a chain, and then the door opened to reveal Lacey, glowering at him.

“Lacey,” he began. “I—”

The door slammed in his face, making him blink.   _Well, I suppose I deserved that._  He knocked again.

“Go fuck yourself, Detective!”

He supposed he deserved that, too.

“Lacey, I’m sorry!” he called through the door.  “I can’t say enough how sorry I am!”

“Got that right!”

“Please!” he said urgently.  “Please - can I come in?  We need to talk.”

“What happened to ‘get out, I don’t want to see you again’?”

“I was wrong!” he insisted.

“You were an arsehole, is what you were!” she snapped.  “What’s the matter, a brush with death made you decide to settle for whatever the hell you think I am to you?”

He sighed, rubbing at his chest.

“Could you at least let me in so I can look at you while you yell at me?”

There was a moment of silence, and then the door opened again.  Her mouth was working, her eyes flashing blue fire at him, and she turned her back, stomping away in a tiny black dress to stand with her shoulders hunched and arms folded.  He closed the door behind him, the click of the lock very loud in the tense silence.

“How’s that gunshot wound?” she asked, still not looking at him.

“Hurts like hell.”

“Good.”

He almost smiled at that.

“Lacey, I’m so sorry,” he said.  “When we kissed - it was like - like something came over me.  Like I became someone else.”

“You did.  A commitment-phobic wanker.”

“I wish I could take it back,” he said.  “It’s hard to explain, but I need you to know that I care about you.  I care a great deal.”

“Funny way of showing it.”

He sighed.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said.  “I don’t expect you to understand what I did, either.  All I can say is that I’m sorry.”

“Great.”  She still had her back to him.  “Well, you can keep your apologies.  Doesn’t matter anyway.  I’m leaving town.”

He blinked.

“What?”

She turned to face him, hurt plain in her eyes.

“I’ve been here too long already,” she said.  “Like to keep moving.  Now my asshole dad’s in town I don’t want to wait around, you know?”

He shook his head, panic rising within him.

“Please don’t go,” he whispered, and she snorted.

“You think I want to stick around here, seeing you everyday?” she said.  “Forget it.  Not like you’d miss me, anyway.”

He swallowed hard.

“I’d miss you a great deal.”

“Bollocks!” she snapped.  “After the things you said?  You think I believe you care?”

He closed his eyes, trying to think of something, anything, that would make her stay.  There was silence for a moment, but he could feel the hurt, coming off her in waves.

“You’ve moved your ring,” she said, and he opened his eyes.

“What?”

“That ring Alice gave you,” she said.  “It’s on your left hand now.  Why?”

“Because....”  He hesitated a moment.  “Because that’s where it belongs.  On my ring finger.”

“Oh.”  She shifted uncomfortably.  “Are - are you married?  Because that would just about put a thick layer of shitty icing on the turd of a cake that was our relationship.”

He hesitated, not wanting to lie to her.  A version of the truth, then.

“I lost my wife,” he said.  “Some time ago.  Ten years or more.”

“Oh.”  Her mouth worked a little.  “Oh.  Well, I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

“That’s what Alice meant when she said it belonged to you,” she said.  “It was your wedding ring?”

“Yes.”

There was silence for a moment, and she pursed her lips, looking at him shrewdly.

“Is - is that why you pushed me away?” she asked.  “Did you feel guilty?”

“Yes,” he whispered.  “Yes, I felt guilty.  I felt as though I’d betrayed her memory.”

“Oh.”

She shifted her feet a little, looking awkward, and he took a step towards her.

“You - you remind me of her, a great deal,” he said.  “For a moment - for a moment it was like having her back, do you understand?  And I felt guilty.”

“I get that,” she said.  “Kind of.  Still doesn’t explain some of the things you said, though.”

“I know.”  He ran a hand over his face.  “I was hurt.  Lashing out.  I’m sorry, Lacey.  Truly I am.”

“Well, I guess I believe you,” she said.  “Doesn’t change anything, but whatever.”

He nodded, expecting her rejection, and ran his thumb over the moonstone in his ring, feeling the tug of magic stored there.  An idea had come to him, and he prayed it would work.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.  “That cup that you got from Alice - could you show it to me?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to check something.”

Lacey stared at him, frowning, then shrugged, stomping off to her bedroom to retrieve the cup.  He pushed the ring around on his finger, turning it so that the stone faced his palm.  She came back with the cup slung on her forefinger, and held it up.

“It’s damaged,” she said.  “Still pretty though, right?”

“Almost as pretty as you,” he said.

“Fuck off, Weaver.”

It was said flatly, but without any real heat, and he smiled ruefully as he took the cup from her.  He held it in his palms, the stone clinking against the thin china, and lifted it to his lips, feeling a trickle of magic flow into it.   _Dear gods, let it be enough_.

“Did you just _kiss_ that thing?”

He straightened up, holding the cup out.

“I like the pattern,” he said blandly.  “If you look very closely, there’s a message in there.  Take a look.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she plucked the cup from his hands, holding it close to her face, frowning in concentration.

He saw the moment that her curse broke.

Her eyes flew wide open, a gasp bursting from her mouth, and she collapsed in his arms, the cup falling from her grip.  He managed to wedge it between their bodies, preventing it from dropping as he gently lowered her to the floor, and he picked it up and put it out of the way, reaching to the couch for a cushion to put beneath her head.  Her eyes fluttered and opened at the touch of his hand.

“Belle!” he breathed, and she blinked at him, a brief smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

“You know my name,” she said.  “My - my true name, I mean.  You’re from my land, aren’t you?”

 _So it’s true.  She doesn’t know me._ His heart ached, but he couldn’t help smiling.  She was alive.  Belle was alive.

“I’m from the Enchanted Forest, as you are,” he confirmed.

Belle nodded, pushing herself upright.  She put a hand to her head, wincing, as though she was in pain.

“What happened to me?” she asked.  “What - what brought me to this place?  And what in all the realms am I _wearing_?”

He couldn’t help smiling at that.  Of course Lacey’s outfits would seem inappropriate to a highborn lady of the Enchanted Forest.  He suspected that she would soon get used to them, though.  Belle had revelled in the freedom of this world's fashions.

“A moment,” he said.

He went to the bedroom to get her bathrobe.  She was standing when he returned, and he held it up for her.  Belle eyed the robe curiously before slipping her arms through the sleeves.  She belted it at the waist, the soft fleece covering her past her knees, and smiled at him briefly.

“Thank you,” she said.  “I’m not saying I won’t get used to wearing the clothes of this realm - I have Lacey’s memories, after all - but at the moment it’s a little...”

She shrugged, wrinkling her nose a little.

“I understand,” he said, his voice gentle.

Her words had sparked something in his mind, and he licked his lips.

“You have - all - Lacey’s memories?”

Belle blushed a little, but raised her chin.

“I do,” she said.  “I - I remember what we did.  We did things I haven’t even read about...”

“I didn’t know!” he said quickly.  “My memories had been stolen too, I didn’t realise who I was, until—”

“Until the last time we kissed,” she said.  “Until you told me you loved me.”

“Yes,” he whispered, and her mouth twitched a little.

“That must have been some kiss.”

“Enough to break the curse for me,” he agreed, and her eyes widened.

“That’s powerful magic,” she said.  “I’ve read about it.”

He couldn’t help smiling at that, and she smiled back before glancing away.

“What brought me to this place?” she asked again.  “What took my memories?”

“A curse,” he said, with a sigh.  “A witch, and a curse.”

“A curse…”  She began pacing the floor.  “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not certain I do, either,” he said heavily.  “I believe you were taken for a purpose, but the witch didn’t have time to put her plans into action.”

“Me?”  Her brow crinkled.  “What on earth could she want with me?  I have no magic.”

 _You have more magic than you know_ , he thought, but he didn’t say anything.  It would be strange enough for her to think of their cursed times together without him babbling about true love.  Time to find out how much she could remember.

“What’s the last thing that you remember from your old life?” he asked

Belle looked away, and he watched her eyes darken a little, a shadow of loss and grief.

“I was in my father’s library,” she said slowly.  “The ogres were approaching our lands, a great flood of death and terror.  They had already killed my - my mother.”

“Yes,” he whispered, and she nodded, as though things were becoming clearer to her.

“I had - I had just started looking into something,” she went on, still pacing.  “A powerful sorcerer, known as the Dark One.  I was thinking about calling on him for help.  I doubt my father would have agreed, but...”  Her eyes widened as she looked back at him.  “My - my father?  My people?”

“They lived,” he said gently.  “You made your deal with the Dark One, and he stopped the ogres.  Stopped the war.  They all lived.”

She let out a heavy sigh of relief, her hands rising up to cup her face, and he wanted to take her in his arms, to hold her close and tell her that no one would ever hurt her again.  He sat down on the couch instead, not wanting to crowd her.

“May I ask how old you are?” he said, and she glanced at him.

“Twenty-two,” she said, and let out a humourless laugh.  “Past time to be married, in my father’s opinion.  The war came before Sir Gaston could get his way.  My - my betrothed, that is.”

He nodded slowly.  Just before they met, most likely.  Before that fateful day when he had strutted into a knight’s war room and named her as his price.  Her hands dropped to clutch at the robe, her head rolling back a little as she let out a sigh.

“We were still going to be married eventually, of course,” she went on.  “I couldn’t get out of it completely, but I managed to persuade Father that the war was more important than a wedding.  It - it seemed so wrong to feel relief, when so many had died.  Selfish of me.”

She ducked her head, as though she were embarrassed.

“No,” he said softly.  “You wanted your freedom.  It wasn’t right to tie you down, to hide you away.”

She glanced at him, a faint smile curving her lips and a little of her old fire burning in her eyes.

“I don’t remember seeing you at court,” she said.  “Were you a knight?”

He almost laughed at that.

“I was a spinner,” he said.  “A peasant.”

Her face brightened.

“Is that why your name here is Weaver?”

“Someone has a sense of humour, it seems,” he said dryly, “although not much of one.”

She grinned, her eyes glinting.

“Well, at least what happened between the two of us will prevent my being made to marry Sir Gaston,” she said decidedly.  “I’m no longer the pure and perfect bride he wanted, after all.  Thank the gods!”

Her tone was dry, and it made him want to smile.  He wondered if he should tell her that Gaston was dead.  Perhaps later, when she had had time to process things.  She turned on her toes then, her hair fanning out behind her.

“The cup broke my curse,” she said.  “You knew that it would.”

“Yes,” he whispered.  “It’s your talisman.”

“It’s strange - I feel as though I should know it,” she said, looking puzzled.  “But - but I don’t remember ever seeing it before.  Can you explain that?”

“I think you were taken out of your past,” he said.  “Powerful dark magic, ripping you out from your place in time.  Doing so disrupted things, fractured time around you.”

“I’ve read about time travel, and spells to reverse time,” she said slowly.  “But - but everything I read said that it was impossible!”

“Oh, it can be done,” he said quietly.  “But at a terrible cost.  All magic comes with a price.”

She looked at him sharply, and he felt his stomach clench at her gaze.  Did she remember those words?  He cleared his throat, trying to concentrate on what was important.

“You may find that the experience disrupts your memories,” he said.  “You may have memories of future events.  Things that hadn’t yet happened to you.”  He swallowed hard.  “People - people you hadn’t met.”

“Memories of future events?”  She shook her head.  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know,” he said tiredly.  “I’m sorry this has happened, it must be very confusing.”

She nodded, but then frowned a little, giving him an appraising look.  He could almost _see_ her mind working, and it made him want to grin.

“You seem to know an awful lot about magic for a spinner,” she observed.  “What’s your name?  Your real name, I mean?  What did they call you, back in our land?”

He sent her a brief smile.

“Rumplestiltskin.”

She mouthed the word, his name whispering out over her lips and sending a shiver through him.  Her brow wrinkled.

“That name,” she breathed.  “I thought I—”

She shook her head, and crossed back to sit down beside him.  Her eyes moved over him curiously, her fingers flexing, reaching out as though she wanted to touch him.

“Do I know you?” she asked softly.

His lower lip wobbled, tears starting in his eyes, and he shook his head.

“No,” he whispered.  “But you will.”


End file.
